He hadn’t yet twigged that a policeman might view him as a suspect, and that counted for plenty in Hirsch’s book. Not guilty, he decided. Daryl wasn’t capable of concealing guilt. He hadn’t butchered and mutilated any ponies, hadn’t witnessed anyone else do it, hadn’t heard talk of it.

Still, Hirsch had to be sure.

‘Did you have a good time at last night’s street party?’

‘It was all right.’

Hirsch mentally reviewed Daryl’s face in Katie Street’s iPhone video clip: the uncomplicated enjoyment of a child. Uncool to admit that.

‘What did you do afterwards?’

Daryl shrugged, struggling to make sense of where he was, who he was with, what it was about. ‘Nothing much.’

‘Mucked around with Adam?’

A ship at sea might change course faster than Daryl Cobb. He blinked, frowned. ‘He wasn’t…he didn’t…I think he went home after. Or maybe down the hospital.’

‘What did you do?’ Hirsch repeated.

‘Nothing much.’

Hirsch had the sense that Daryl barely recalled his evening. ‘Watch TV?’

A cloud lifted. ‘Yeah. Game of Thrones.’

‘On DVD?’

The sun and the air defeated Daryl again. He frowned at the dirt. And said, slowly, ‘Laura’s.’

‘It was her DVD?’

‘Got it for her birthday.’

‘You binge it? Late night?’

Daryl struggled again. ‘Think so.’

‘Did you go out afterwards? To look at the Christmas lights, that kind of thing? Meet up with friends?’

A dull intelligence stirred behind Daryl’s blankness. He looked astonished, as if Hirsch was suggesting he’d piloted a private jet to Tahiti. ‘Just went to bed.’

‘Who was here last night?’

Another strange question. Overnight guests? Here? ‘Me and Mum and Laura.’

‘You all stayed in?’

Daryl woke a little more. ‘I would never…We would never…’

‘Never what?’

‘Hurt Nan’s horses.’

‘What about Adam? Did he stay in town?’

Daryl shrank. He looked hunted. ‘Dunno. Never saw where he went after.’

‘He didn’t pop in for a meal, watch TV for a while?’

Daryl folded his arms. It wasn’t defensive, it was decisive. ‘Nup.’

‘I want to thank you again for apologising to Mrs Washburn, Daryl. It can’t have been easy. Perhaps you boys felt we’d put you on the spot?’

Daryl blinked at the shift. And Hirsch realised that the boy had no sense of agency. It didn’t occur to him to resent, or permit himself to resent, the burdens and expectations placed upon him by others. ‘It was all right,’ he muttered.

Another mantra of the bush: things were never terrible or fantastic, merely okay. ‘You didn’t feel aggrieved at all?’

The boy didn’t know the word. ‘You didn’t think Mrs Washburn and I were being unfair?’

Daryl’s eyes swivelled wildly, as if he thought Hirsch were saying the apology was inadequate, more was expected of him. ‘Better than going to court,’ he said.

‘What about Adam? Was he upset?’